Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,37

threateningly and holding my eye until I give a sharp nod.

“He was a Navy chef,” Swift informs me, picking up an apple and taking a large bite. Once she’s swallowed she continues, “Used to cook gourmet food for the admirals.”

“Yeah, well…” Cowboy looks somewhat mollified. “That’s as well as feeding a crew of two thousand or more.”

“How did you end up here?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“Well, I did my time, got out. Had dreams to open my own restaurant.” His face darkens as though a cloud has passed over it, then he visibly shakes himself. “That didn’t pan out. One thing and another led here.”

“Satan’s Devils put you to work?” It’s clear he’s in charge of the kitchen, another difference from back home. There the old ladies feed anyone who doesn’t want to cook in their own home, or lives on the compound in the suites used by single brothers.

Cowboy looks amused now. “Not at first. They used to take turns. Seemed easier to take it on myself, then risk death by salmonella. Fuck, but at times I was more scared than facing an enemy.” His eyes widen slightly as he recalls those days. “So, while I thought I’d put my chef’s whites behind me, I donned them again. Well,” he glances down at himself, “figuratively.”

The wonderful smell of bacon fills my nostrils, and I watch him expertly crack eggs into a pan. As they sizzle, he adds a few herbs and spices. It’s not long before he places two loaded biscuits in front of me.

Dubious about the extras, I reach for the ketchup and apply my normal amount, then raise the biscuit to my mouth.

Christ. If this is a sample of the way they eat here, maybe transferring would be a good idea. Even Ma’s breakfast recipes from the book she left us when she died can’t match up to this. I don’t speak, don’t ask questions, just carry on eating until not even crumbs are left on my plate. Then I raise my fingers to my mouth and lick them.

“Good?” Swift’s mouth quirks.

I nod, still trying to savour the final moments of flavour.

“Wash it down with this.” Cowboy places a coffee pot in front of me, and pushes creamer and sugar my way.

It’s good stuff, some special blend or something. I eye Swift. “You’re not having any?”

“Huh.” Cowboy scoffs as he cleans up the kitchen, clearly for the second time today. “She’s a fuckin’ heathen. Only drinks English breakfast tea.” My eyes follow him as he carefully wipes everything down.

Swift grins but doesn’t apologise for the error of her ways.

“You done?” she says when my cup is empty.

I find I am indeed done. My stomach feels full, and my body has been re-caffeinated sufficiently for now. “Is this where you tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m going to show you,” she says. “Come.”

“Lunch at noon, dinner at eighteen hundred hours,” Cowboy calls after us as we leave the kitchen.

“You really have set mealtimes?” In Tucson it was usually when the food was ready, or heated up leftovers at any time.

“Cowboy hasn’t got the patience for anything else. He’s got better things to do with his time. Or course, when shit hits the fan, he adapts. When it’s quiet, as it is now, he likes to serve us all at once.”

I don’t know of any MCs with a top chef in residence, so I can’t compare, and I’m definitely not going to put in any complaints. From the haunted look in Cowboy’s eyes, I’ve a feeling there’s an unhappy story as to why the chef isn’t running his own top restaurant. Jury’s out as to whether he’d win any Michelin stars, though that breakfast comes close to suggesting he might be worthy.

9

Road…

We head out through the cafeteria again, and this time Swift uses her key card at another door. I expect it to lead into an office, instead I’m presented with a room which Mouse would probably offer to sell his soul to the Devil in exchange to be allowed inside to play. One wall is completely taken up by a range of monitors, all flat screen. A couple are showing the outside of the compound, and others are currently dark, clearly switched off.

“The receptionist gets the same view,” Swift explains, when she sees where my eyes are fixed. She nods at Duty and Honor who have keyboards in front of them. There are half a dozen work stations in all. In addition to the wall mounted monitors, each work